


Think I'm Finally Clean

by fuck_me_barnes



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Come Eating, Come Marking, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Forced Orgasm, Gentle Domming, Kink Negotiation, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Roughness, Spanking, Top Steve Rogers, erotic crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-17 01:32:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3510200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuck_me_barnes/pseuds/fuck_me_barnes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which sub Bucky wishes for rougher handling by normally gentle dom Steve, and gets probably more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Think I'm Finally Clean

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sparklebutts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklebutts/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [Think I'm Finally Clean](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3822088) by [ogawaryoko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ogawaryoko/pseuds/ogawaryoko)



> I...actually surprised myself with this one.

A hand reaches down to where he's knelt at Steve's feet, ruffling through his hair affectionately. It's shorter now, he'd gotten it cut after - after everything. Felt better, this way. Shortly after he'd come back to himself again, he'd been overcome with the insane desire to shear it all off, along with the rest of the hair on his body, tip to toes. Clean. Start over, brand new.

He hated it, the way he looked in the mirror. Like some kind of menacing specter, cheekbones sharp and eyes bruised with sleepless dark circles, the weapon of his arm. But for some reason, the tangle of unkempt hair was the most obvious reminder of what they'd done to him. Tasha'd found him in the bathroom one afternoon, frantically hacking at it with a pair of kitchen scissors, and had wrested them away from him while he'd collapsed to the floor, sobbing.

He'd compromised by letting her - _trusting_ her - to cut it short, trim it neatly, with those hands that were surprisingly gentle despite what they were capable of. She'd held his face in her hand, her touch soft and light, and wordlessly, she'd taken care of him.

It occurred to him then, as he sat patient and still, allowing her to touch him, listening to the snick of the scissors and watching tiny clumps of hair fall away, that _his_ hands weren't that much different from hers. When she was done she'd brushed off his neck and kissed him on the forehead, feather-light, then handed him a hand mirror to see for himself. And yeah, it wasn't the exact same style he'd had before, but so what. He wasn't the same person now that he'd been _before_ , either.

Take this, for example. He'd never have done something like this before.

 

* * *

 

He's kneeling at Steve's feet while he reads a book on the couch, running his other hand lazily through Bucky's hair. Steve's clothed, blue jeans and one of his best-loved too-small t-shirts, his feet bare and crossed at the ankles. For his part, the only thing Bucky's wearing is his collar, resting back on his heels, his hands folded and resting in his lap, his head tipped down slightly to look at the floor.

They'd discovered that he _liked_ this about a year ago. Since then, they'd played about once a week, and sometimes it didn't even end up in sex. It was _good_ , good to let it all go, to give up control of himself and trust Steve to decide what he wanted, to do whatever he wanted to him. It'd worried him, at first, thinking that Bucky was just reenacting some trauma he'd experienced at the hands of Hydra, some damage as yet undisclosed. It took him a short, uncertain while and a lot of conversation to understand and accept that this was something Bucky liked, and that he _needed_ , and that he trusted Steve and _only_ Steve enough to give it to him. 

He could tell that Steve had taken to it far more naturally than he'd expected, but honestly, Bucky wasn't surprised. Steve had always, ultimately, been about service. And if allowing Bucky to submit completely to him was what Bucky felt that he needed now, then that's how he'd take care of him. So he did. He'd always been overly gentle about it, though, firm but kind. Which was fine. Usually.

On the floor, his knees are beginning to ache. He'd been sitting here, motionless, for the better part of an hour. Steve has only been reaching out to touch him on occasion, no more than light strokes over the back of his neck, fingertips tracing idly down his spine and dancing over the scars on his left shoulder. They'd spent whole evenings like this in the past, nothing more than Bucky sitting quietly being petted while Steve whiled away the hours reading or watching television.

But it's not enough. Not tonight. He wants _more_. 

Bucky shifts minutely, and Steve doesn't catch it, just turns a page in the book he's been reading. He shifts again, more overtly this time, hoping he'll be caught moving. Hoping he'll be _punished_. They'd never done anything with punishments before, it'd always just been - _following orders_. And Steve had always known exactly what he needed, then. To get out of his head, let Steve take the reins for awhile. 

"You okay, Buck?" Steve asks casually. Bucky's breath hitches, at that. How to answer? Speaking when spoken to was _allowed_ , he felt, but...

Biting his lip, Bucky doesn't say anything, a tiny defiance. Another minute passes, and he shifts again, sitting back on his heels harder, grinding his feet into the floor. It hurts, but it feels nice at the same time, grounding him here, in this room. 

"You're restless." Steve's voice is flat, just making a statement of fact, and Bucky strains to hear a note of disapproval in it. His breathing hitches, his skin prickles. Bucky just shifts again and makes the conscious decision to turn his body to the side to look at him.

He reaches out to cup Bucky's face in his hand, leaning forward and pinning him in his frank gaze, all blue eyes and genuine concern. "You were being so good for me, sitting still. What happened?" When Bucky doesn't answer, just slides his gaze away, Steve taps his fingers against his cheekbone, a gentle reprimand. " _Look_ at me, Buck. D'you want to stop? All you have to do is say the word, and -" 

Bucky cuts him off with a frustrated huff, closing his eyes for a moment. "It's not that," he whispers, his voice sounding rough. "It's just. You don't have to treat me like I'm fragile, Stevie."

His brow furrows. "You know I could never hurt you, Buck."

Pressing his lips together for a moment, Bucky contemplates what he wants to say next. He can't meet Steve's gaze, and instead looks down at the floor when he speaks. "I don't - you don't have to _hurt_ me, not exactly, not bad or nothin', but I just - sometimes I want..." he trails off, unsure how to make his request without panicking Steve, or making him think there's something deeply wrong with him.

Steve, however, is always far more perceptive than he remembers to give him credit for. "You want me to get rough with you." There's no judgment in his tone, just matter-of-fact interest. The mere threat of it is enough to start making Bucky hard, which Steve can't help but notice. "My god, you _do_ ," he chuckles lowly. "Look at you."

"Just don't - I don't want - no humiliation. I don't. I don't like -" he manages to get out before Steve has his hand in the hair at the nape of his neck, yanking his head back by the short hairs to expose his throat. He can't help it, he moans, and his eyes flutter shut. Yes, this was good, this was _perfect_ , this was - 

"I _know_ , sweetheart. I don't think I could ever be cruel to you, not like that," he murmurs, leaning in to mouth along his neck. "But if you want to be punished when you're not good for me, I think -" Steve nips at his earlobe, his teeth pinching _just_ this side of too hard, before he continues. "I think I can arrange that for you, hmm?"

Bucky squirms, and in response Steve pulls his hair harder, wrenching his neck back and effectively pinning him in place with one strong hand. "Uh-uh. No. You move when I tell you to, and not before." He stands in one smooth motion, releasing him. Obediently, Bucky doesn't move, despite how quickly his pulse has started to race. He stands there, watching for a few moments until he's satisfied. Steve reaches down and grabs Bucky by his left arm, and he can feel the pressure sensors in his forearm registering the tightness of his grip. 

"Move," he commands, in his Captain voice. "The bedroom. Now." Bucky shivers, realizing as he does that his legs have fallen asleep. Before he can stand, he's yanked roughly to his feet. "I said _move_ , Sergeant," he says sternly, but his lips are twisted up in a wicked smile. At that, Bucky's helpless. He breaks out in goosebumps, and groans.

Stumbling, Bucky is hauled down the hall to the bedroom, legs tingling with renewed circulation, the rest of his body tingling with anticipation. It's dark, and Steve doesn't bother turning on the light before he pushes him on his back onto the bed. He bounces with the force of it, then lies motionless, settling in. He can hear, across the room, the rasp of a lighter before it catches and illuminates where Steve is standing, lighting a candle that's atop the dresser.

"You remember the word?" he asks casually as he moves towards him, candle in hand.

Bucky nods, before realizing Steve probably can't see him. "Yeah," he says, a little more irritated than he means to sound. He corrects himself with the proper deference. "I mean. Yes."

"What's the word?" Steve prompts sternly, setting the candle down on the nightstand next to the bed. He looks gorgeous, the soft illumination lighting his hair in a golden halo around his head, like the Russian icons Bucky'd seen in the St. Petersburg cathedral a million years ago.

Even as he says the safeword, he knows he won't need it. He never has, not with Steve, though when they began playing he'd been insistent about setting it up just in case. "Moscow."

Steve smiles down at him sweetly, unable to help himself. "Jesus, Mary 'n Joseph, you're lovely." Bucky huffs loudly at that, rolling his eyes, and quick as anything Steve reaches out and grabs him by the hair again, pulling sharply. "You take a compliment when I give it to you." Inhaling softly, Bucky holds back a smile.

"T-thank you." 

Raising an eyebrow, Steve asks, "Thank you, _what_?" 

"Thank you, sir," Bucky amends. 

 

* * *

 

"Please," he begs, not even sure what he's asking for, anymore. "Please, Stevie, please, I -" 

"Don't you dare come, baby. Not till I say you can. You can wait a little longer, can't you? Be a good boy for me, you take it so sweet, so good for me," he praises, thrusting in and out of him, the angle hitting his prostate on every stroke. Bucky's _so close_ , he can feel his release coiling at the base of his spine, and he knows he's only seconds away. He could hold off, probably, he thinks, but...he's never _really_ defied Steve before. And if it could earn him a punishment, well. He thinks of what it'd feel like to have Steve angrily manhandle him over his lap, spank his ass, and he suddenly realizes he's a breath away from coming.

Bucky panics, suddenly. "I can't, I can't, I can't, _no_ , no no _no_ , no Stevie, I'm gonna, I'm -" and that's it, it's all over, he's shooting off, coming untouched all over the sheets with a wet spatter. Steve's hips go still, and he inhales a sharp breath in shock. Bucky's shoulders drop, and he trembles, both with the aftershocks and with anticipation. He has no idea what Steve's going to do to him for this transgression, and the ideas going through his head are _delicious_.

Steve pulls out of him without warning, and Bucky moans at the loss. Roughly, Steve grasps him by his left shoulder and flips him onto his back, and straddles his waist, pinning his shoulders to the bed with his hands. His hips grind down on Bucky, his hard cock rubbing against Bucky's half hard, sensitive one, making him groan in protest.

"Did I say you could come?" Steve's voice is tight, controlled, his jaw set. He grinds down even more insistently. "Did I?" 

"N - no, 'm sorry, 'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I couldn't _help_ it," Bucky whines, looking up at him through half-lowered lashes. "Your dick felt so _good_ , Stevie." He tries at flattery, already knowing it's not going to work even though it's the truth. He loves every second of this. 

Shaking his head regretfully, Steve murmurs, "What 'm I gonna do with you, sweetheart. You just don't wanna listen to me tonight, do you?" He sighs, and then takes his own cock in hand. "I've half a mind to just jerk off and not let you touch." He begins stroking himself slowly, teasing. "Or bending you over my knee and spanking your ass for disobeying me."

Bucky shudders at that, and bites his lip, trying to keep from smiling at the thought. "Maybe I'll do both," Steve continues. "Then maybe, since you seem to like coming so much, maybe I'll make you come over and over again, till you scream." 

A whine escapes Bucky's lips. "Please, sir, I can't, please..." It's a lie. He can. He _wants_ to. The serum - both versions, his and Steve's - have granted them a myriad of superhuman abilities. Accelerated healing, faster reflexes, sharper senses, and, apparently, the near-limitless ability to get hard and _come_. During the war, before he had really learned how to control it, a strong breeze could have set Steve off. It wasn't ideal, but then again, they hadn't had much time to fool around back then, either. They'd never _completely_ tested their limits before, but the record for the most orgasms Steve had ever gotten out of him in one night had been three. He can feel himself getting fully hard again at the prospect of Steve dragging more and more out of him than he ever had before.

Steve rises to his knees, and swings his leg over, settles himself in a seated position at the edge of the bed. "C'mere, Buck." He beckons to him. Bucky doesn't move, transfixed. " _Now_ ," he commands, twisting to grab him by the arm and pull him forward, arranging him over his lap roughly. 

He runs his palm slowly, deliberately, over Bucky's ass, first one cheek, then the other, as he talks. "Ten," he decides. "You're gonna count 'em off for me, after each one." Bucky squirms, both excited and frightened by the idea of Steve hitting him, and Steve's hand grabs one round globe and squeezes it firmly. "None of that. You're gonna take whatever I give you like a good boy, isn't that right?"

Before Bucky can answer, he withdraws his hand and brings it back down on his ass, _hard_ , with a stinging slap. He's not ready for it, and his body jerks. The palm of Steve's hand smooths over the spot he'd smacked, gently, in a little circle. "Go on," he says kindly.

"O - one," Bucky stutters out. 

"Good boy," Steve murmurs, before bringing his hand back down and spanking him, again. 

"Two," Bucky hisses out. Steve raises his hand a third time.

By five, Bucky's harder than he's ever been in his life, and by nine, he's crying, his ass red and raw. "You've got one more to go for me, baby," Steve coos. "One more. You know why you deserve this, right?"

"Yes," he sobs out. 

"Because...?" Steve prompts.

Sniffling, Bucky manages to get out, "I. I came. All over the bed and around your cock. W-without permission."

"That's right," Steve hums. "And why was that bad?"

Bucky can barely speak, and just whines, but Steve answers the question for him.

"It was bad because you're _mine_ , and because your orgasms are mine, and _I_ decide when to give them to you, or if you get any at all." He squeezes his ass again, this time digging his nails into the reddened flesh and making Bucky yelp in pain. "I'm gonna take good care of you, baby. I'm never gonna give you anything you don't ask me for, nothin' you don't need. And you need this, don't you, Buck?" He doesn't wait for a reply, just brings his hand down again for the final blow, and Bucky _howls_.

" _Ten_ , oh god, oh _god_." His backside feels lit up, sore and tight, and it's exhilarating. His dick's so hard it hurts, and he realizes, when he glances down, that he's been dripping, and there's a little puddle of precome collected on the floor between Steve's feet.

"You gonna be good for me, now? 'Cause I ain't done with you yet, Buck." He puts his arms underneath him and lifts Bucky off his lap, tossing him onto the bed and on his back effortlessly. It never fails: however much he sees it in action, Bucky's always awed by his sheer strength, at how, finally, the outside of Steve's body matches his insides.

"Okay, Stevie, okay," he breathes, "I'll be good, 'm sorry."

"No, you aren't." Moving up the bed, Steve takes his cock firmly in his hand, and Bucky gasps to feel the least bit of relief on his dick. "Oh, oh, _oh_ ," he moans, as Steve begins stroking him briskly.

Kissing his forehead, he asks, "How you doin', sweetheart? Gimme a color."

"Green, green," he breathes, not wanting this to end. "Steve, _please_."

Steve nods, and keeps going. "Okay, baby. You wanna come so bad that you won't listen to me when I tell you you can't, well, I'm gonna _make_ you come for me." He lies on his side, his lips brushing the shell of Bucky's ear. "Again...and again...and again." He can feel the thick length of Steve's cock bobbing against his hip, and that alone makes his dick twitch in Steve's hand. His own prick's still sensitive and he squirms, panting, as Steve jacks him faster.

He tries to hold off. Really, he does. Tries to think about anything else but how goddamn _good_ it feels, the clever little twist of his wrist Steve uses on the upstroke, thumbing the oversensitive tip and wiping precome from the slit, slicking him up even further. He tries to be good, but it feels so much better to give in and be _bad_. Consequently, it doesn't take much before he's close again, coming with a shout all over Steve's fist and his own stomach. 

Steve collects his come from his stomach in one rough swipe and thrusts his fingers into Bucky's open, gasping mouth. "Lick," he instructs. "Lick 'em clean, I don't want you messy."

Groaning, Bucky obliges, cleaning his own come off of Steve's hand with his tongue, salty and bitter. He suckles and laves at each fingertip thoroughly, wishing it were Steve's cock in his mouth instead, and tries to telegraph that very idea to him without saying a word. Steve, perceptive as ever, grins wryly. "You wanna suck my cock so bad, don't you?" 

All he can do with his mouth full is nod and whimper a little, and he looks at Steve with what he hopes are the best puppy-dog eyes he can muster. Steve laughs, and cradles his cheek with his other hand affectionately. "No. Maybe later, but not now." He pulls his fingers from Bucky's mouth and leans over towards the nightstand, pulling out two silk scarves.

Bucky tosses his head frantically. "No, no, please no, Stevie, please..." Both of them know that the scarves are purely an exercise in trust. Either of them could very quickly break them easy, as breathing. As restraints went, they were really purely symbolic. They didn't hurt, didn't leave marks, but they were effective reminders for him to submit and let Steve take the wheel. Bucky _loves_ them.

Quickly, both of his wrists are tied to the bedposts, and then Steve leans back to admire his handiwork. "Look at you, Buck. Still hard, still needy, wanting it so bad. I ought to just leave you here like this, all night, come in and use you when I wanted, however I wanted, and you can't touch me at _all_." At this suggestion, Bucky makes a completely undignified noise, imagining it: lying here waiting for minutes or even _hours_ , Steve slipping into him whenever the mood struck him. His eyes roll back in his head.

Kneeling over him, Steve says gently, "Open your eyes, baby. I want you to watch me." Steve takes himself in hand, and starts jerking himself off in slow, hard strokes. Bucky whines to see it, knowing exactly how good Steve's hands feel on his own cock. 

"Let me suck you, Stevie, c'mon, I want it, I want to," he begs, unable to take his eyes off Steve's hand, working himself faster now. He can picture in excruciating detail the thickness of his dick stretching his lips, the weight of it on his tongue, the _taste_ of him, and he wants it more badly than he's ever wanted anything else before.

"You're being punished, sweetheart. And part of that is, you don't get to touch me," he purrs, locking eyes with Bucky. "I'm gonna come _on_ you, and then I'm gonna make you come again, and then I'm gonna come _in_ you, and make you come _again_." Bucky can't help but lick his lips and whine, watching the red, flushed tip of Steve's dick disappearing into his fist.

He can tell Steve is getting close, his chest is starting to flush now, his breath hitching in little gasps. "You know I'm giving you exactly what you deserve. Don't I always give it to you so good, Buck?"

"Yes, please, I _want_ it." He writhes helplessly, pulling on the bonds lightly, not enough to break them, just enough to remind him that they're there, that Steve is in charge, now, and he controls whatever Bucky's going to get. 

"Tell me," Steve gasps out, and then moans. Bucky knows the signs, knows he's so close. "Tell me what you deserve."

"I wanna...want you to come, want you to come on me, mark me up, please, _please_ , c'mon," he pants out, and he can feel his own blush heating up his face at this admission as Steve watches him squirm, his dick jerking with interest, leaking steadily again.

"Yeah, baby, _yes_ , yeah..." he manages, and his hips start to jerk erratically. Steve sways forward, pressing his free hand to Bucky's shoulder and pinning him down, before he shudders out his orgasm, painting streaks of hot come all over Bucky's chest with a groan.

He only takes a few seconds to catch his breath before scooping up the mess he'd made and lifting it to Bucky's lips. "You know what to do," he says breathlessly, and Bucky opens his mouth obligingly to lick Steve's hand clean of come, again. He closes his eyes and moans around Steve's fingers, at finally getting to taste him. 

"Thank you," he mumbles blissfully, swallowing, "thank you, thank you."

 

* * *

 

Three hours later, Bucky's sobbing, filled up and dripping with at least four loads of Steve's come, as Steve tries to coax another orgasm out of him. "I - I can't, please, please, it _hurts_ , Stevie, oh god, oh Jesus -" Every inch of his skin feels lit up, all his nerve endings on fire, and his limp dick is so oversensitive that he nearly starts screaming when Steve touches it, the callouses on his hands far rougher than Bucky can handle. 

"One more, baby, come on, you can do it, be good for me, one more," Steve hums in his ear, the bastard. "You can do one more, can't you? For me, baby? Last one." He slides down Bucky's chest, kissing him as he goes, sucking on each nipple and teasing it with his teeth, and now Bucky _does_ scream.

Licking a stripe down his stomach, nuzzling down the line of soft dark hair trailing down his navel, he says, "Maybe this'll be better. Don't worry, sweetheart, I'll get you there. Gonna make you come for me," he promises, and then wraps his lips around Bucky's hypersensitive cock. 

He suckles, gently, at the tip, and then swallows him down in one fluid motion, his head bobbing slowly as, despite himself, he coaxes him to thicken up again, working his throat expertly around Bucky's length. The noises Bucky makes at this point are just broken, animal keening sounds, beyond all words. Steve's mouth on him has always been his favourite thing - the man has a mouth that was _made_ to suck dick - but every sensation is amplified with equal amounts pleasure and pain, and it's overwhelming.

"No, no," he pleads, hips shifting restlessly, "I can't, baby, Stevie-doll, I don't think -" Bucky manages to choke out, knowing it's a lie. He's fully hard in Steve's mouth. He's almost _afraid_ to come again. Even though every roll of Steve's tongue is getting him there, he knows it's gonna hurt like Hell. He whited out a little on the last one.

Steve's determined, though, and growls deep in his throat, the vibrations around Bucky's dick causing his breath to catch. He lifts his head up to see Steve sucking him off with his usual single-minded intensity, his eyes closed, long dark lashes resting against his cheeks, which are hollowed out as he swallows again. He looks like a fucking angel, and - he collapses back on the pillow, helpless. He knows Steve will suck him till he comes, there's nothing he can do but just lie back and take it, let Steve make him come. Steve reaches a hand up to rest gently on his stomach, gently stroking him, reassuring him, trying to encourage him to let go.

Bucky's covered in sweat, panting hard, gripping the sheets in his fists, moaning steadily, unceasingly, when Steve lifts off, replacing his mouth with his fist, continuing to stroke him at the same rough pace he'd been sucking him. "Come for me, baby, c'mon. I got you, I'm here, just let it go, c'mon," Steve urges.

There are fresh tears streaming down Bucky's face, and he tosses his head wildly. "Stevie, 's gonna hurt, I can't, please," he begs, unable to even open his eyes.

"You're doing so good, so good for me, you can, I know you can. Last one, sweetheart. You've done so well, I just wanna make you come apart one last time, Buck." He lowers his lips to Bucky's dick again, suckling so gently on the head while moving his hand over the shaft that Bucky thinks he's going to die. His hips start to buck up, but Steve pins them firmly in place with his free hand, reminding him who's in control, and he comes, screaming and shattered, spurting weakly into Steve's mouth.

 

* * *

 

When he opens his eyes again, Steve's sitting at the edge of the bed, wiping his forehead with a cool, wet washcloth. "You okay, Buck?" he asks, concerned. He continues cleaning him up, as gently as he can manage, over his chest and, feather-light, between his sore and aching legs. At some point he'd untied him from the scarves, and his arms are resting, lax, above his head.

Bucky knows he should feel - guilty, maybe, _dirty_ , maybe, but he doesn't. He feels like he's floating, loose and comfortable, blissed out. He takes a deep breath experimentally, exhaling slowly. The air in his lungs feels like a blessing.

"Stevie," he croaks. "Oh my god. Oh my Jesus, Mary, 'n Joseph, Stevie. 'M fine. Ain't never felt better, not ever in my life." It's the truth, he realizes. He's covered in sweat and come, his muscles sore, completely _wrecked_ , and yet he feels - cleansed. Glorious. 

"You get what you needed?" Steve smiles at him, that little grin reserved only for him, and leans over to kiss him chastely on the temple.

Bucky's eyes flutter shut, satiated, and he stretches lazily, like a cat. "Stevie-doll, you don't even know. All I needed and more." 

 

 


End file.
